


Cookies, notes and blokes

by Tita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Blushing, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Mindless Fluff, One Shot, Pining Harry, blushing harry, hot louis, just a lot of things yeah?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tita/pseuds/Tita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry blushes a lot and likes to bake, Louis may be the hottest delivery guy ever, and the written word is the chosen medium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies, notes and blokes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Cookies, notes and blokes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825066) by [moonlightdirection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightdirection/pseuds/moonlightdirection)



> Okay okay i have a lot of people to thank for this thing which i've been working on since March. First of all my beta Gabby, my loyal supporters Jen, Froso, Emma, Mila (who designed very cute fan art for this which you can see in my tumblr) and just everyone else (I'm bound to forget someone, sorry) who stuck with me through everything, the ups and downs and tolerated my fic bits which i smuggled into various ask boxes.  
> This wouldn't be what it is without any of you so thanks again, and i love you.

Harry knows everything there is to know about the bakery. He recognizes the soft creak of the door that signals a customer has just come in, and the way he has to bump the oven just a bit over at the lower left corner for it to work. He has memorized the soft voice of Zara, the old lady who always asks for half a dozen vanilla cupcakes for her grandchildren, or the cheery voice of Gabby, the amicable teen that always orders a triple-shot coffee that comes along with half an hour of pleasant chatter. It’s the Knicks and knacks that he has gained along the way, the evidences of the hard work he has put into the small place , that make him smile every time he steps into the quaint shop at an ungodly hour in the morning.

He never complains though, because amongst flour sacks and various sprinkles, he has found a home. A vanilla scented, bread making home, and he loves it.

He dreads the closing hours, but it’s in those, the truly quiet part of the day, when he really appreciates what he does, though.

Harry likes to think he brings joy to people, little smiles that brighten up his heart and give his eye a permanent twinkle. He bakes love, the rawest form of it, all mixed up and cooked into a delicious treat that somebody will buy. He makes happiness in the most innocent form, and then hands it out to a lucky patron . Maybe it’ll be a guilty pleasure eaten alone, or the centrepiece for a birthday dotted with smiles. Maybe it’ll be a gift from a lover to another or an offer of forever from a shy friend to a clueless one. Maybe it’ll be special.

It brings a purpose-he supposes sometimes when he’s lifting chairs and polishing empty glass displays- to the otherwise empty months before he starts college. He’d been a loyal customer to the tiny shop, and it seemed right to ask the old lady who owns the shop for a job once he’d finished school. The rest had been slow paced, sweet smelling, history.

That doesn’t mean all his days are good. On some, when the customers are extra bitchy or he forgets a batch in the oven, his mood turns as sour as the icing he likes to use on his red velvet cupcakes. His smile never makes an appearance those days, reserving it’s brightness for the good ones which are –luckily- the majority. He just can’t be bothered on bad days.

It’s on one of those, the _really_ bad days, when the hot delivery guy comes in. He’s wearing some kind of work attire that leaves most of his arms out and Harry thinks he might just swoon at the sight. The guy has an impressive pair of biceps that flex under the strain of the flour sack he’s carrying, the tan skin glistening under the sunlight. Harry feels the need to bite it, to mark the flawless skin and feel the strong muscle clench under his grip; but all he gets to do is tighten his jaw and stare longingly. The boy has a companion, but all of the interaction seems to be his job, and when he approaches Harry, the young boy can’t do a thing but stare.

He has blue eyes, but not just plain blue, it’s a deep turquoise colour that makes Harry wonder if they’re contacts for a moment before deciding that no, he’s just so pretty that they might  be his. Trailing down the delivery guy’s face, he does not miss the incredible jawline, all defined and scruff-littered, or the way his lips seem so soft that he wants to reach out and test it with his own. Harry’s staring, but in his new world of killing jawlines and pools of blue, he doesn’t care.

Delivery guy has a job though, and after coughing three times to get Harry out of his daze, he extends a clipboard out to him, eyes fixed on getting the boy’s attention. The baker barely has time to process the thought and sign the sheet before the guy is leaving, showcasing an ass that is surely going to make a reappearance in his thoughts later that night. As if he needs anything else but his unforgettable face to make people want him, Harry thinks, returning to the counter and slumping unceremoniously into it.

He stares at the door for a while; head replaying the sun kissed skin and flexing muscles, before deciding that no matter how much he stares at the door, it’s not going to bring his hot delivery guy back, saddening as the thought might be. He sighs once more before resuming his attending duties, but do as he might, the colour blue pops up alarmingly often.

***

That night is spent with a blubbering Harry on Liam’s lap, interrupting his explanation requests with remarks that only confuse the boy further (“The bluest eyes” –“Oh god and his ass you don’t even know”-“I just want to kiss him”) After a while, the younger falls asleep, and Liam has never been so grateful for silence in his whole life. (He still has no idea who Harry was going on about, but he figures the boy will forget about it, like he has done with countless ‘fascinating things’)

(He doesn’t)

***

“A Thai latte please.”

Harry looks up to find a blonde girl intently staring at her mobile, and he momentarily doubts that she could’ve ordered while being so focused, but there’s nobody else at the till so he accepts It and busies himself with the espresso machine. It takes a minute for him to get the order ready after the machine dings, and another for the girl to snap out of her trance in order to pay and leave with her drink in hand and eyes on phone.

The bakery has some clients at this time, mostly uni students in between classes or old ladies coming in for early teas, but the ambience is eerily quiet. Harry had proposed playing some music a while back, but it had fallen on deaf ears. (Though, if Harry really thinks about it, he thinks his old coworker had complained about his music being to indie or something to the owner. He has no idea what he meant)

The silence makes the noise in his head blatantly obvious, and he can’t help but sort through the masses of stuff, while absentmindedly scrubbing the already immaculate wood. There’s that holed t-shirt he has to dump, the pile of books to sort through and the courses he has yet to choose for the next term. A party at Mark’s this weekend makes an appearance, right after a moment’s silence for the shoe he forgot he had to look for a month ago; and just before the image he’s been trying to avoid all the past week.

Blue eyes and a killer behind.

It’s not like Harry intentionally thinks of the boy, it just pops up. It’s like it’s lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for him to get distracted or relaxed in order to appear. And he knows it’s some stupid, silly crush, that he’s never actually _spoken_ to his mind’s guilty pleasure, but he feels it nonetheless.

His mind gets caught up in it for a second before someone coughs nearby and he has to get back to work, making all sorts of beverages that take his mind off things.

He goes through them in automatic, not really paying attention to anything in particular. It’s like he’s there, he can _feel_ himself in the place. Taking the scene completely but not at all, concentrating on details –like how a woman’s cat disappeared or a boy named Tom left a girl whom he’s pretty sure whined about it all through her order- but not on the greater aspects like where he left the rag or if there’s any croissants left.

It’s not a common occurrence, but he’s tired and has allowed himself to make the exception. Not once has his mind drifted to the scary place that a certain boy inhabits, and he’s about to pass what he’s sure is a record when the doorbell chimes and tight skinny jeans come in carrying a large box of supplies. Harry’s startled eyes lock with careful oceans of beauty, and he freezes.

Blue, endless blue, and kindness too.

When he snaps back an eternity later, or seconds to people with normal heart rate, reality sinks in and he deftly turns around, embarrassment flooding in like waves.

Okay _wow_ that just happened, he thinks, heart beating hard in his ears.

 Harry’s sure that his cheeks have turned bright red, and he’s focusing really hard on his breathing, hoping airily that the blush will die down as fast as it sprung up and he can go through the simple motions without scaring the boy off. It had been just a stare, he reminds himself.

It’s just a boy, the reasoning part of his mind screams, just a _really_ attractive boy that he has to face for about two seconds before returning to his daydream state. “It’s not much” he chants as he slowly turns around.

He can do it.

He’s not silly; _of course_ he can do it. He can. Maybe squeeze in a word or two as well while he’s feeling brave. He’s almost-grown man, he reminds himself as he turns around. This is _absolutely_ manageable.

Except the guy has already dropped the box and he’s staring at Harry with those really pretty eyes and his head is cocked to the side in confusion and it is decidedly _not okay ._ Not even close.

“Hey mate, are you ok?” The delivery boy asks, but before Harry can even fawn over how sincere his voice sounds, there’s a large beep and the boy startles, patting his pockets frantically before squeezing out a silver phone. His eyes go wide at whatever there is on the screen, and he hurriedly pockets the device again.

Harry, who’s in the middle of praising the lord for the distraction, gets a form pushed into him. Looking up, he finds the guy staring expectantly, clearly wishing for him to hurry up.

“I’m sorry they’ve just reminded me we’re just running _really_ late for something, so could you sign this please?” The boy requests and Harry signs the dotted line in a rush, stunned at the sudden change, but secretly relieved that he doesn’t have to make a fool of himself.

Tucking the clipboard below his arm and clicking the pen, Delivery Guy leaves with a small wave and an anxious “Bye!” that Harry barely registers.

His mind is replaying the odd encounter, and while he grabs the box left on the floor, he doesn’t wonder what made the guy rush; but if it would be creepy for him to try and smell him off the cardboard.

He decides it is, but ends up trying anyways.

***

Harry is really thankful that deliveries only come once a week, because that makes the anxiety infrequent. It’s just that he was so sure last time, and it had all gone to hell, so he doesn’t really bother with pep talks anymore, just smiles forcibly when the guy comes in the week after what he refers to as the phone-call-fiasco.

The whole ordeal goes by quickly, but Harry is left with an unpleasant taste in his mouth, like something is wrong but he can’t figure out what. He concludes that maybe the milk he took had gone sour, but somehow, he doesn’t really believe it.

Liam gets a messy handful of curls pushed into his face that night, a confused boy clinging to him while retelling every minute of the short encounter. Liam tries to fight back a smile because no matter how Harry insists the interaction was insignificant, he can’t quite hide the sparkle in his eyes while he describes the boy’s hands, as if they were art.

***

When the familiar sound of engines slips through the crack of the door, Harry doesn’t freak out; in fact he doesn’t even hear it, too busy running to the back of the store to get the batch of chocolate cupcakes that must be cool by now. He grabs a piping bag brimming with his special buttercream recipe and begins to draw sculptural swirls on the muffins, tongue poking out through his stretched lips in concentration.

It’s relaxing, the small flicks of wrist, the gentle squeeze of the plastic and the easiness in which it all flows. It’s a practiced movement he’s done hundreds of times, but Harry stills takes special care of each one, drawling out the process for longer than necessary to ensure it’s the best swirl he can do. The curves top on each other perfectly, each a little bit smaller than the previous until they end in a perfectly perked tip. Sprinkles might finish up the job, or maybe the fondant roses he did earlier, but as for now, an immaculate mountain of sugary snakes stands alone. From the bag, the icing itches out slowly, matching the rhythm in which his heart beats and chest rises. Harry would certainly fall asleep if he wasn’t so immersed, but his eyes gleam with content while he places the newly finished cupcake into a tray and takes up another. Breathing out, he starts out the process again, applying light pressure to the bag and rotating his arm slowly in order to go around the curve, finishing off-

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

The bouncing sound startles Harry, whose grip on the bag tightens and screws up the current cupcake, spilling icing everywhere. Cursing at the mess he stumbles back and falls, landing on a new powdered-sugar bag, which shoots delicious snow into the air and all over the area. The mess is only getting worse, and just picturing the waiting boy amps up his nerves even more. Harry’s mind reels, and his hands itch with the wish to slap himself for forgetting which day it was, but instead he scrambles for a grip before getting up-realizing with a groan that he has just steeped on the piping bag he’d dropped.

“Delivery service!” The same melodic voice calls from the front of the shop, and Harry sighs  before lifting his foot from the goopy mess and heading to the counter.

Thoughts whizz through his mind to quickly for him to fully grasp them, and the word bewildered sure seems to fit him. Harry’s heart rate has gone from slow to erratically fast, and he can hear the blood thumping in his ears. The delivery guy doesn’t seem to hear it though, and when Harry comes fully into view, the caramel haired boy is currently flipping his fringe to the side before smothering it down. His eyes rake up and down Harry’s body, taking in the squish-covered sneakers, white powdered pants and flushed cheeks until they meet green.

Harry’s heart might as well have stopped, for time seems to do just that. Blue eyes mesmerize him, freezing his running mind and completely covering his current thoughts. Warmth seeps through Harry’s insides, from his peachy cheeks to his toasty toes, and he feels _good._

Forever feels like a good amount of time to feel like this, but the boy’s lips are suddenly moving and he should probably listen to him, but they seem so soft, and if he could just reach out and touch them, he figures they’d be like velvet under his fingers. He tries to get his ears to catch at least a glimpse of what the guy’s lips are forming, but they refuse to cooperate, his whole attention focused on his mouth, and how much he wants to kiss it.

And then they halt, and absorbed as he is, Harry still realizes the boy is waiting for an answer which he certainly does not have. His mind goes from focused to chaotic, nerves sweeping in where melodic appreciation stood just before. His tongue feels heavy on his mouth, and Harry’s eyes dart quickly from the guy’s lips to his eyes and they’re crinkling with confusion, and he looks so adorable-and Harry’s hear is beating really fast - and he can’t really think very well right now- and the delivery guy seems to be smiling -and his nose scrunches up the tiniest bit- and his cheekbones stick out obscenely while he’s doing so- and his lips move again-

“Hey, are you all right, mate?”

\- and _fuck_ , this guy is the prettiest thing he has ever seen. A second too late, he realizes his lips just moved.

The delivery guy smirks right then, eyebrow cocking in amusement, and Harry’s eyes widen in dread. He needs to fix it, quickly.

“No wait I didn’t mean that!” –When he catches how that sounds, he scolds himself and tries again -“ Well I did, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud!” He tries, and oh God the boy’s face is only getting cockier, and he’s tired of being so nervous all the time, and he said it all right? There’s nothing to be done now, so he just sighs and looks down, defeated. He hears what might be a small laugh, but Harry’s not really sure.

Not daring to look up to the quiet young man, he extends his hand for the signup sheet, anxious for him to leave so he can go pull his hair out in the back room. It takes a moment for it to reach his hand, and he rapidly signs it in a messy scrawl, barely catching some words that seem to have been written hastily on the top of the sheet. The blue pen stands out from the official paper, and he wonders when the guy had time to write them before fully catching their meaning.

Harry’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t even get a chance to react before the boy takes it out of his hand, mutters a bye -that can only be paired with a wink -and leaves.

Stunned from the recent events, with blazing cheeks and a small doze of left over embarrassment, Harry leaves for the back room, where he collapses over the messy counter giggling as he goes over the words printed into his mind.

_“You look really cute when you’re all flustered and blushing ;) “_

_***_

“Wait, really?” Liam asks, clearly amused at Harry’s previous statement. “He wrote you a note?”

Harry sighs audibly before sitting up on the couch and shaking his head. “Not a note Li, he wrote on the sheet -thingy!” He clears; making it sound like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And well, for him it sort of is, since he’s been replaying the whole ordeal in his mind all afternoon, but Liam only stares at him.

“Is there a difference?” He questions and Harry drops back on the couch, because seriously? Liam does not get it, at all

“Of course there is!” He exclaims, eyes set on the roof, hands gesturing wildly in exasperation. “Because a note can be written any day, at any time, and that is cool you know? It would’ve meant he thought of me which is pretty cool, but then he wrote it _on the sheet_ , where anyone could see but he did it anyways, and oh Liam he’s so nice.”

The voice echoes through the now empty room, door clicking in the distance, but it takes Harry a whole ten minutes of speech to realize that.

***

When Wednesday finally morphs into Thursday, Harry is pleasantly surprised. The terrible nerves are now much more subdued, closer to a fluttering than the expected hurricane. It’s a bit strange, the way in which his blood feels overrun with current, how it tingles his fingers and sparkles in his eyes. He feels it course throughout his body, pumping especially hard in his stomach and head, making them feel light and fluttery. If his life was a movie, he figures that he’d sing the sappy ‘crazy in love song’ just about now, but it isn’t and Harry doesn’t think scrubbing all the glitter- oh yeah ,if he lived in a musical there’d be _loads_ of the sparkly stuff-off the floor would be any fun.

There had been a few customers during his shift, friendly faces with crumbles littering their cheeks, warm eyes taking in the cozy shop and smiles tittering the edges of their munching mouths. Harry felt pleasantly satisfied when he saw each one of them leave through the door with their tummies full and smiles a little bigger than when they first came in. It somehow calmed the undercurrent, and he was so grateful for it.

A little too soon for his liking- Harry has just finished placing some boxes of granulated sugar on the top shelf and has no time to accommodate his wild hair - the sound of an engine cutting off sneaks through an open window. He straightens up, staring at his faint reflection in the back of the display case before checking his teeth for any residue of his lunch and patting his hair down with futile effort. Accepting it's all he can do; he peers through the door and catches the delivery guy making his way through the sidewalk, blue uniform present as ever. The sparks running through his veins spike.

Bells ding, and then the guy is there in his tiny bakery again, with Harry smiling full on, dimples like permanent dents on either side of his pearly whites. When the boy catches the baker's smile, he matches it with a dimple-less one of his own, but somehow it’s even prettier to Harry without them. His whole face seems prettier when the boy smiles, Harry notes, catching the sparkle that dances in pools of blue and keeping the image with the rest of his cute-guy memories. He thinks it's a place he'd like to clutter in the future, hopefully.

"Hey." The boy salutes, and Harry chirps a quiet “Hi.” followed by an awkward silent second, that makes him realize he doesn’t actually know the guy's name, so he noisily clamps his mouth shut. It's a bit strange, always referring to him as blue eyed beauty, cute boy or delivery guy in his head, but he's not sure if it'd be weird for him to ask. Because yeah they've shared a tiny- huge if Harry is allowed to catalogue it, but he thinks everything the guy does is grand, so it's not really biased- moment the week prior, and yes he had complimented Harry but maybe he does that with every baker he meets. Maybe he’s not special at all.

Harry doesn’t like the sharp pang he feels at the thought, but keeps his mouth shut anyways.

Following their set actions, the guy takes out his clipboard and extends the pen, but somehow, it feels different. His blue eyes are not staring at green expectantly, but curiously. It doesn’t feel like routine anymore, instead it feels like a known gesture, like it’s natural for him to do that and natural for Harry to blush.

When he looks down from blue to white, Harry notices that on the upper hand corner, some words have already been printed in blue pen.

_“If you thought I was pretty maybe we should get you a mirror Darling”_

Harry stares at it, mouth dropping open in surprise and colour rising to his cheeks. He freezes for a moment, wondering what on earth he can say back because it’s so shameless and openly flirty and he’s so out of his comfort zone he can’t even see it. He reads it twice and then again, taking the pen slowly and signing the dotted line, still unsure as what to do. In the end he takes the pen, draws a smiley face and gives it back, smiling softly while he mutters a hesitant “ _Thank you.”_

The delivery guy watches him curiously before shaking his head, smiling, and peeking a look at Harry through his fringe all at once, the corners of his mouth turned upwards and it looks sort of playful. Harry’s heart stutters.

For a second they just stare before the boy straightens, shoots Harry another look- which seems merrily confused- before returning a “You’re welcome” and steeping out of the shop.

Once he’s completely out of sight, Harry ducks under the counter and counts up to ten to calm his racing heart. When it finally slows down, he slaps himself for being so stupid and promises silently that next time, he won’t be so damn timid.

***

He spends all week going through possible answers to what the delivery boy had written in his sheet. He thinks of stuff like _“Well not just pretty, quite beautiful as well”_ or _“Oh I know how I look, but do you?”_ That he’s sure wouldn’t have had the gut to write down, or –while he’s alone one night in bed _– “Well if you did get me one, It would be pointed at that great ass of yours 24/7, so not really helpfulto you”_

He does realize they’re all awful, but he’s not an expert in the area, and has no idea what to do next time. Google doesn’t either.

***

When he finds himself in the exact same scenario a week later-messy appearance, a smiling boy and a certain white clipboard- it’s not him who seems nervous, though he is, he really is; but the delivery boy, with topaz eyes darting from the sheet of paper to Harry’s face. It disconcerts the baker, who was expecting a cocky smirk and raised eyebrow but is instead staring at a seemingly preoccupied personage.

He takes the sheet with unsure hand, eyes resting on the seemingly empty paper. The pen gets handed to him, and just as he finishes signing on the dotted line, sharp blue traces catch his eye.

 _“I’m Louis.”_ It reads, and Harry is taken aback.

It’s no forward proposition, no pick up line or innuendo-loaded sentence.  It’s no elaborate metaphor or mind boggling indirect message. It’s a warm welcome.

He looks up and catches a pair of expecting eyes trained on him, the corners of the deliver-Louis’s- mouth tight with what must be concern. He smiles softly ,as to offer a kind of reassurance he’s not sure he understands the motive for, before ducking down again and furrowing his brow in anticipation, reading the question once again.

And he realizes, really he does, that there is only one answer, that the correct thing to write is his name and a smiley face; but he’s so taken aback, so enamored by the idea that this guy, this almost _stranger ,_ realized how uncomfortable he was and tried again, that he remains unmoving.

His mind filters through all the scenarios other people might’ve taken- Harry himself would’ve deemed the boy too nervous- but Louis, with his blue eyes and uniform, Louis with the ever present clipboard and clockwork time, Louis: _his_ delivery guy , didn’t. He didn’t stop writing, he didn’t laugh. He introduced himself! And Harry’s megawatt smile can’t even reflect how happy he is that he decided to stay around, so he uses the pen instead.

_“I’m Harry, and you, dear Lou, are a lovely person.”_

Harry promptly finishes off writing and hands both the pen and the sheet back to Louis, who reads the message and waves off as he leaves the shop. Harry is momentarily disappointed at how little effect he seems to have on the boy that makes his blood spike, but then, out of a window corner, he catches a uniform-clad teen making a jump that would have given any gymnastic a run for their money.

He cannot shake the smug smile off for the rest of the day.

***

“You wrote _what_?” Liam asks, clearly disbelieving at how daring Harry had been according to his step-by-step revival of that afternoon’s scene.

“I know, I know, but he was being so nice and all and I just _had to_ Li.” he answers, face resting on Liam’s lap, wild hair fanning around his face. He knows it was a bit much but at the moment he had been so happy, it had just slipped out.

And he had thought about the simple words Louis had chosen to give him. Simple, yeah, typical conversation starters, yeah, but it was the meaning behind them what made him squeal. Louis had torn down a wall between them; He had proved that he observed, that he got the tiny twitches of Harry’s hands and his darting eyes, that he really paid attention to him, and that alone made Harry’s hear swell.

They were no longer the baker and the delivery boy but now Harry and Louis. New friends or much, much more, because maybe  on a different context, a party or a uni class, they would’ve just become acquaintances, but in the intimacy of their hand printed words, the shift feels huge.

And he’s been smiling like crazy at the sweetness of it all, at how considerate it had been of Louis, at how fluttery it had made his stomach, that his cheeks ache a bit and Liam’s gets pissed at his overwhelming happiness.

Not that he cares, because Louis noticed him and that is all that matters.

***

Seven days later, the scene is the same, and what he gets is an _“I like your curls.”_ that he answers with an _“I like your eyes.”_  When he passes it back, he’s not nervous anymore, but anxious to see what Louis’s reaction to it is. The faint flutter is still there, but he manages to keep it down long enough to smile softly at a happy Louis who, he notes, crinkles his eyes adorably while grinning. They stand facing each other, both beet red and shyly eyeing the other before Louis waves and leaves- almost smacking his head with the door on the way out and leaving Harry in giggling fit.

Next week it’s a _“You smell like vanilla.”_ that stands out against the page and has Harry’s brain melting. He writes back a simple response he does not even register, to busy squealing internally at the idea of Louis remembering such a small detail of him.

The whole thing makes Harry feel like he’s in middle school and has a crush on the popular boy, which based on the amount of blushing he’s doing, is not very far away from the truth. His tummy does backflips every time he wakes up on a Thursday, and he spends hours thinking of was he could ask the boy out, ways that will never get tried out.

***

On the following Thursday, around Louis’s usual time, there is no engine sound, no cheeky lad strolling through the door and no reason to blush. Harry is getting fidgety, wondering if Louis chose to leave because they’ve been moving so slow, if he decided Harry is stupid, or if maybe something happened to him on the way over. Neither one of the options make his heart stop racing.

There is a blonde boy sitting on a stool by the counter and Harry tries to play off how tightly wound he is in order to avoid being asked questions, but the way in which the customer has been glancing at him frequently, evidences how bad he is at pretending. The boy is having one of Harry’s triple chocolate chip cookies, making occasional murmurs of appreciation, and he would think it’s rather funny to see someone talking to food but he’s too preoccupied to care at the moment.

Harry’s rearranging some pastries- mind wondering if Louis thinks his hair is too curly and smile too goofy-when he hears the soft creak he’s adopted as being Louis’ cue. He shoots up, grin forming as his green eyes travel across the room. Nothing.

It’s exactly the same as before, same sold lady and blonde boy, same vacant spaces and missing flirtyness, same as always, but same has already become empty without Louis; and when his brain regretfully gets that, his whole face drops, resigned.

He sighs, double checks every space twice before nodding and slumping his head once again.

Just as he’s about to return to accommodating, he hears an echoing laugh that sounds so completely out of place in the small bakery, with the slumped teen and unorganized cupcakes, that he’s momentarily startled. Quite obviously-unless he has seriously underestimated the stamina of the quiet old lady in the corner- the laughter came from the boy by the counter, and as he turns around the blonde is still smiling.

“Uhmm.” Harry rumbles, trying to get the boy’s attention but not knowing what to say. (Something tells him that asking what’s funny might not be the best move, as it might just bubble up the crazily loud noise again and he has _absolutely_ no intention of that happening again at his expenses)

Finally the blonde looks up and catches the awkward, expecting stance in which Harry is, and smiles again, shifting his seat closer towards Harry. The baker’s raised eyebrow is question enough and the boy chuckles before speaking.

“Oh mate it’s just that- You should’ve seen your face! It was hilarious.” He explains, laughing loudly before continuing. “You were all moody and shit and then suddenly you looked like fucking money was falling from the sky or somethin’!”

Harry goes red at the comparison because okay, he did get a little bit happy at the prospect of seeing Louis but surely his face hadn’t betrayed him like that, had it? The way in which the boy, whose accent dictates Irish, is still laughing, proves it had. The baker decides he might just hate everything.

 (A corner of his mind chants ‘but not Louis.’ He chooses to ignore it)

The customer calms down again, picking up what’s left of his cookie and popping it into his mouth, smile widening an inch.

“I wasn’t.” Harry tries arguing, and his face might actually resemble a stubborn toddler at the moment, with his blush spread nicely and lip pouting just a bit, but he doesn’t really care.

“Ya’ totally were man.” The guy says in his deep brogue, leaning closer to where Harry is now propped up against the opposite counter. His lips twitch into a smirk when he notices the way Harry’s cheeks have gained pinkness, and hands have begun fidgeting, eyes clearly avoiding his. It feels too easy.

“It’s cool though.” He clears, trying to get the curly haired teen to at least look at him. “I think it’s pretty neat someone can make you smile like that, ya’ know? Soul mates and all that shit” He adds, smiling again when the baker looks up and nods softly.

They stare at each other for a moment, Harry easing up a little and widening his smile. He notes the boy’s eyes are blue, and they twinkle for a second before his mouth starts moving, tone teasing.

“So, what does a lad have to do to get another cookie and a full soul mate story around here?”

***

And so he talks, and the boy coos, effectively making his blush a permanent fixture. Niall, as the Irish had introduced himself moments after requesting every detail about Louis, ends up eating many more cookies than expected, but he doesn’t really mind.

Minutes fly by in between ramblings about how blue Louis’s eyes are and how embarrassed he had been before; and when Harry finally hears the soft rumble of an engine, he is surprised as ever. Unconsciously he flicks his hair and licks his lips, nervous once again.

Niall merely chuckles and leans back, as if what follows is a soap opera in some cheap TV channel he’s about to watch. His smile becomes smug, curiosity bubbling as Harry’s heart thumps.

Finally, a blue flash of uniform peeks through the window, winds chiming moments later. Louis is standing there, panting softly and completely disheveled.

 Harry wants to lick him.

Time seems to freeze as they take each other in, same as always but new as ever. The baker eyes a small drop of sweat running along Louis’s neck, mouth drying in the spot and urges to run his tongue along that smooth expanse of exposed skin increasing drastically. He doesn’t note it, but his neck is pushed forward just so, Louis being the beautiful creature and him the peeking boy at the zoo.

However, time moves on for the rest and Niall chuckles before coughing softly and effectively snapping them out of their trance. Harry may as well be an apple for how red he turns.

“So.” The blonde starts, grinning. “Is he the Louis?” he wonders, eyes raking up and down the uniform clad body appreciatively. Harry simply nods shyly, but his blood may or may not spike at Niall checking- _his_ \- Louis out so bluntly. The boy, in turn, looks amused, his devilish smirk reappearing.

“ _The_ Louis?” He asks aloud, and Harry can even hear the smirk in Louis’s tone as his face turns scalding hot. He opens his mouth to argue, but Niall beats him. He’s not sure he even likes this guy anymore.

“Oh yeah man he totally adore”- _“Don’t I have a paper to sign?”_ Interrupts Harry urgently, gently tugging at Louis as his head goes into meltdown. He definitely does not like Niall after this. He can’t just barge and tell Louis how much Harry likes him, doesn’t he realize that? God, everything had been on the verge of collapsing, good thing the stupid clipboard existed.

_Oh no the clipboard!_

Now he has to read how stalker-ish Louis thinks he is or how stupid he looks. Or, even worse, nothing at all because he has been so erratic Louis may have given up Harry.

Stupid Niall!

Snapping back up to reality, he notes he’s still holding Louis’ sleeve and that he is staring at Harry curiously. Embarrassed, he drops his hand and mumbles something along the lines of ‘clipboard’ eyes downcast. He hears the soft rumble of pen on paper and then the white sheet is in his line of vision. Harry takes it reluctantly and scans for the message, first thing.

“ _Oh so you’ve been talking about me baker?”_ It reads, and he honestly feels like laughing.

It may be Niall’s curious glance or the way in which Louis had looked today, mouthwatering and cockily amused; it may be the chuckle he’s holding back at being so dramatic, but whatever it is, it makes him feel bold.

With a sudden idea, he jots down something quickly before passing it back, the ink of his “ _I may have dear Lou, since an ass like yours cannot simply be forgotten.”_ smudging.

Louis takes it and reads it, and for a split second Harry regrets it. It was so forward, and so not what they’re used to. Oh no. Louis will hate him. He will never see him again all because of a response. Harry is so stupid. Now all of his Thursdays will be boring and full of-

Louis’s eyes widen and he laughs, he freaking _laughs_ , eyes twinkling and lips stretching. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief as Niall stares back and forth between them confused. Everything is okay, or more than okay, he thinks, as Louis winks, chuckles once more and exits the shop, shaking his head in mock indignation.

Harry has never been happier.

(Not even when minutes later he tells Niall off for being such a bad gossip, knowing that the boy will be there on the same stool next week to make things even more complicated for him)

***

And he is, Niall, there next week when Louis comes on time with a clipboard reading “ _Your dimples are going to get me fired.”_ that confuses Harry until he looks up and sees the boy holding a post it that says _“I just can’t stop thinking about them,”_  smiling brightly. He writes back a simple _“Sorry ;)”_ that he hopes conveys how flustered he is, and how cute Louis looks that day. It doesn’t, but his timid smile and soft chuckle does.

(Niall ‘awww’s them and Harry shushes him halfheartedly once Louis is gone)

The week after, he’s there as well, peering not so subtly at the clipboard in Harry’s hand, which in turn reads _“Thursdays are my favourite days.”_ and just below _“Mine as well, with Niall here and all ;)” in_ messy, long writing _._ The look on Louis’s face mimics his own: surprised at how cheeky Harry has become and in a way sort of proud, but the delivery guy has a special glint in his eye that Niall can’t help but notice. Louis softly punches Harry with the clipboard before leaving, and it’s all so playful and cute, the blonde can’t help but hug Harry once the engine sound is a distant memory.

It becomes regular after that, Niall always present on Thursdays, looking from a short distance as Harry and Louis-shyly or cheekily at times- stare at each other, exchange cute messages and say goodbye. Harry doesn’t mind him though, taking the blonde as a reassurance more than a bother. It’s comforting and it feels like home, being there, clipboard in hand, Louis in his eyes and Niall by their side. It’s warm and welcoming and he finds himself wishing to never have to leave.

***

“No Niall don’t you get it?” Harry asks for what seems the billionth time, hands trashing wildly as he explains his point. Or tries to since Niall is not even thinking straight anymore.

“I honestly don’t, mate!” The blonde shoots back, equally exasperated as his counterpart. “So please explain what can be so fucking difficult about what I’m saying? Because it doesn’t seem so crazy to me.”

 Harry sighs and presses both palms down on the cold counter, trying to calm his urges to just hit the boy. “I just can’t Niall it- it’d be too hard.” He offers, hoping it conveys the hurricane of emotions bubbling inside of him at the mere idea of asking Louis out, because he needs someone to understand, to not push at something so delicate.  
“What can be so hard of just asking Louis”- He begins, completely missing the way bells chime until a cheery voice interrupts him “Asking me what?” And both boys freeze in their tracks.

Louis is standing there, in all his blue uniform glory, and two sets of eyes lock on him. A second passes, and no one dares move a muscle, scared of breaking the tense moment. Harry, however, snaps out of his shock faster, chuckling nervously and waving a previously frantic hand dismissively.

“Nothing, nothing.” He shushes, moving away from Niall and closer to Louis, the counter still separating him from both. The boy shrugs and smiles, passing him the clipboard previously held under his arm. Niall seems adamant on not letting the matter slip, though, and is just about to protest when Harry quickly catches hold of what Louis is offering and hits him softly with it, muttering a “Not now.” that is too soft for anyone besides Niall to catch.

With a defeated frown, the Irish boy finally shuts up and simply stares at Harry who focuses on the paper, reads the message ( _Not really sure how to feel about this, something in the way you move…_ ) And chuckles, clearly disapproving of the lyric choices but completing it nonetheless with the rest of sentence he’s ashamed of knowing. ( _Makes me feel like I can’t live without you and it takes me all the way_ ).

He hands it over to a smirking Louis, and his smile seems to say it all. He’s probably happy Harry’s not a pretentious hipster, which is what he seems  with those curls and what he guesses are skintight jeans under that silly apron, and the baker is happy to have passed the test.

(And really, that song has been his melodramatic jam for the whole week, breaking down in chorus in the empty streets or damp shower being a usual thing- probably too usual since Liam has been spotted singing it as well)

They smile at each other for a few seconds, and then Louis waves and heads for the door; Harry reaching across the counter to grab the box when he hears a deep Irish brogue pierce the peaceful silence with a harsh whisper.

“He wrote you fucking lyrics in there and you’re gonna let him go?” He asks, disbelief tainting his low tone.

And Harry knows he should do something, that those words, even if from a very popular song and not from the most romantic of singers, meant a lot to both him and Louis. And he knows he’s being silly but fear; fear strands him, it curses through his veins and makes him shake his head sharply. Because if Louis rejected him, if he even shook his head softly and stared at Harry with pity filled eyes, he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not from him, not when things are going so well.

Niall seems to have other plans, shaking his head once in disapproval and then smirking. He steps away from Harry and shouts.

“Hey Louis.” He calls to the boy who’s about to open the door and freezes at the mention of his name. “Would you like to go out with Harry sometime?” He asks and it sounds so simple, so innocent, _so easy_ Harry wants to chuckle, but he can’t because he’s frozen with the same fear he’s felt since Niall asked why he wouldn’t do it. The horrible silent second that comes after the question is exactly why. All colour drains from Harry’s cheeks, and he’s about to retract Nialls words when Louis smiles, well more than smile, he sort of _beams;_ before nodding and calling out a soft “Yeah, I’d love to.” punctuated by the sound of the door opening and closing after the beaming boy and his happy skip.

He doesn’t really get a moment to process his answer before Niall slaps his shoulder and chants an “I told you so.” that mingles with the echo of Louis’s words in his brain. What he can process though, is the immense feeling that this is the right thing, and maybe a spark or two of pure and raw excitement that he feels, will start a fire.

***

When it does fade- just a little bit, never enough for him to fully relax and slowly take in what’s happened- he turns to Niall and stares at him incredulously. Because he does owe the blonde boy, and he knows he wouldn’t have done it in his own, but he’s still angry the boy did it anyway. Niall apologizes, but just before leaving he grins and opens his mouth wide.

“Oh cheer up mate; I got you some piece of that ass!” He exclaims jollily before slipping out of the door, leaving a very embarrassed Harry behind.

(And it’s not that he’s not exited-he really is, maybe a bit too much-but that he’s trying not to lose it, because if he does he doesn’t know If he would ever stop squealing, and he does have a bakery to tend believe it or not)

***

On Thursday, Harry is still playing over Liam’s words on his head. “Oh that’s great, when are you going out then?” which had brought an inevitable realization on Harry. Louis had just agreed, but now he had to properly ask him, to plan a real date and tell _Louis_ , and that was not easy at all.

There are the movies, but there isn’t really anything interesting in display and what if he chooses a sad one and Louis thinks he is depressing? Or a romance one and he is pegged as cheesy? No, no he can’t take a chance like that; it would be just too risky.

There are tons of galleries open but he can’t seem to get the meaning of most paintings he sees- He just likes the shapes okay? And maybe he imagines small stories for them but that’s his business- so if Louis is an art connoisseur, which he doesn’t seem but _risks_ , it could all potentially go cahoots.

So the only option is dinner which he would be perfectly fine with but there’s a small detail: there is no distraction there, no way to escape if he gets to nervous, no way to entertain Louis if he’s bored, and that really stresses him.

Niall shakes his head and offers a “Just invite him for a burger Harry” that solves nothing because what if he makes a mess with the ketchup? Or if Louis is vegetarian? Not good there are too many _risks_.

And he’s stuck in the dilemma when the time comes and a smiling Louis is coming through the door, all rosy lips and sharp cheekbones, and you couldn’t blame the kid if he had a meltdown right then, but he doesn’t so he whispers a soft hello and extends his hand out. His insides churn with nerves and Louis seems aware of it as he purses his lips, grabs the pen and goes to work on putting some blue letters into the white page. Harry’s nerves spike. What if it’s him backing down from the date? Oh no.

It takes him practically nothing, and the clipboard lands on his hand at the same time as Louis locks eyes with him. There is no pity hidden in blue, but as he brings the deciding paper towards him, he can’t help but scrutinize Louis’s eyes just in case.

Nervously his eyes go from turquoise to white and trace the words written there.

 _“That date your guy promised sounded good.”_  It reads and Harry wants to spin in a circle with his arms all out and a girly song playing because Louis is exited- okay maybe not exited but a boy can hyperbolize in times like this- to go out with him and life is good.

And when he takes a moment to look up Niall is smiling with his face full of crumbs and Louis is standing there, right in front of him, with a soft fringe which he wants to run his fingers through and a smile he wants to be the cause of.

 When their eyes meet again, a question dances in blue and realization in green. So Harry figures fuck it, because if Louis gets bored he’ll make a scene to make him laugh, and if Louis is smart about art where Harry is not, then he’ll watch the boy analyze painting to and fro, because it doesn’t matter. Because everything is as good as it has never been before, and if he lets it go, if he misses the chance because he’s so insecure, when is going to feel like this again?

Suddenly determined and with Niall’s words bouncing in his head Harry takes the pen and writes in round, chunky letters: “Tomorrow, 7:30 pm at The Hole?” It’s simple, an easygoing date to a literal _hole in the wall_ place near the area with this nice cozy ambience and live music which is a perfect conversation starter and makes things easier and relaxed, so there’s nothing to worry about. Well nothing to worry about in _that area_ at least, but, for starters, Louis still has to agree on the proposal.

Once finished and with his mini freak out done, Harry caps the pen and hands the whole combo to Louis whose eyes immediately search his comment. A warm smile forms in his lips as the meaning of the words sink in. His eyes lift and scan the air, as if he were calculating something briefly, before his eyes meet Harry’s and he nods slowly, lips curling around an almost whispered “I’d love to.” that makes the baker smile as well. They stand there; both a bit flustered and blushed when Niall lets out the cheer he’s been holding- startling them all.

“Sorry.” He apologizes but the way in which his lips are curled upwards gives him away, making Harry bow to restrict the number of cupcakes he gives the boy later. Probably futilely since the minute Niall brings the ‘favour’ he did him and Louis he’ll surrender just to get him to shut up. It does make him feel better though.

After that small interruption the mood is broken so with a small wave Louis goes, but Harry thinks he caches a small “See you tomorrow.” just before the door closes.

If he doesn’t, it’s not really relevant since there’s always another chance just a day away.

(And hopefully many more but he’s not supposed to plan so ahead or something- Liam’s words which he tries to follow _-honestly_ -  but they sound a bit stupid amongst images of him an Louis at the park, library, cinema)

***

His roommate is always looking for trouble instead of being happy for him though, so as soon as he ushers the words out “I’mgoingoutwithLouistomorrowfordinneratthehole.” he is greeted by problems. He doesn’t think Liam means it but really, can’t the boy see how he tenses when he’s reminded that he has to choose a hair style? (There are not that many options, but still) Or how frantic he becomes when he’s even told about what kind of outfit he should wear? (Casual, smart, indie, pop, Nicky Minaj- wait what?)

He kind of wants to smack him, but the boy seems so enthralled with the idea of helping Harry that he lets him ramble on, mind set on how Louis would look on a pair of skinny jeans. When Liam notes Harry is drooling a little bit, he stands up and walks away, leaving a completely oblivious boy nodding periodically at nothing.

***

Fridays are his day off, and as Harry wakes up amongst what would seem the remains of a fort but are really just blankets he kicked off in the middle of the night, he feels fine, clam even. When he stretches his muscles they all pop in sweet symphony, his back loose and stretched, and toes cold as he completely rids his body of the warm protection of the covers. His feet trod on the icy floor, and he goes to the bathroom for a wee. 

The mirror shows a relaxed Harry as he washes his hands after, loose curls sticking out funnily. He can see the traces of previous meddling; the splashed water around the sink, uncapped toothpaste and strewn comb letting him know an early soul is probably waiting for him in the kitchen, or at least the breakfast he’s prepared. He remains silent- or more so than before, holding his breath for a second- trying to catch the rustling of newspaper pages, but nothing comes through. Content, he heads for the kitchen, where as expected, a plate full of cut fruit lies.

His stomach rumbles for something sweet though, it always does, so he gathers pots and pans and starts up on some pancakes. Time after time he’ll pop a piece of fruit into his mouth, feeling guilty for ignoring what Liam sweetly prepared.

A soft tune dances around his mouth, escaping in soft hums and interrupted melodies. The birds chirp outside in pleasant chorus as Harry eats and scrubs right after, singing while he changes, and all throughout his commute from his room to the couch, silencing once the TV is on. Such polite animals those birdies, Harry thinks.

He idly flicks through some channels, nothing catching his attention. Not even that show where people fall into the water, and that one had always been his favourite.

 It may be because he’s not used to staying at home uselessly, always being around the bakery, even on his free days. There are just not many interesting things to do during spring break around the city, not when his friends are all doing fashion internships and running in Liam’s case.

He briefly thinks of calling Niall but decides against it, not wanting to be a bother to the boy who’s probably at work or something. Shuffling a bit on the couch, he does a second scan through the shows and then a third. His eyes feel heavy as he switches channels, and by the time Liam slips through the door still panting heavily, the boy is fast asleep.

Time flies by in between dreams of smiling ponies- he blames the colouful tv for those- and empty chairs, and by the time he wakes up, the room has a golden touch that is certainly new.

“Liam?” he calls as loudly as he can in his still-rough voice, looking confusedly around before dropping his head back down on the couch.

“Harry?” answers back Liam, who comes into the room seconds later. He’s not in the running attire Harry had pictured him to be in or wet from the shower, which is strange. “Have you finally woken up?” He asks, rather uselessly since he’s watching a bleary eyed Harry squint at the bright light streaming from the open windows right in his face.

“What time is it?” Harry says instead, ignoring the question for a more pressing one. The light seems to indicate it’s quite late but he has just drifted off for a couple of minutes or so, for sure. There’s _no way_ he has slept all through the morning, because that would mean it’s quite late and- and well he has to get ready for his date in the afternoon. So it’s around midday, right?

“It’s four thirty.” Liam answers, completely missing the way in which all colour drains from Harry’s face. “You slept quite a lot Harry.” He adds as if the curly haired boy doesn’t already know that.

He has three hours. Three short hours to shower and make himself look presentable for Lou. It’s impossible, there’s just no way he has slept for that long. It would be really stupid of him. With a glance he notices that his clock agrees, and dread spreads through his body.

How could he sleep so much? Hadn’t his stupid brain noticed? He has been sleeping little, yes he knows that, but he hadn’t been expecting his body to be such a complete adversary!

His eyes widen and he sits up, numbers dancing in his head and nerves rushing in at full speed. The abrupt change in position seems to alert Liam who realizes the state of his friend and gets confused.

“What?” He questions, eyes analyzing Harry’s. A still second goes by where it’s so silent, they can hear the tick of the clock. Harry’s eyes are still glazed over, and as Liam stares into them something changes.

_Click_

And then there’s no more Harry, just a blur that Liam realizes a second later is the boy just getting up suddenly and rushing out of the room.  The sounds of a shower starting flood the flat a mere minute later.

When Liam is pretty sure Harry is already in the shower and is chuckling internally at how bewildered the boy seems, he hears a door close and then open again right away.

“What now?” Liam wonders internally, not completely out of his shock of having such an energetic and nervous Harry where there was a calm, sleeping one just before.

 A called out _“I have to take a shower for Louis!”_ is screamedat the top of lungs and the door re-closed a second after. A crashing sound thunders next, and he’s pretty sure Harry just died in there when he hears the boy scream an _“I’m okay!”_ through the closed door.

 _Oh boy_ , it’s gonna be a long night.

***

Twenty minutes later, comes the existential crisis.

“He will think my clothes are terrible”-hiccup-“and he will leave and never come back”-another hiccup- “And I will never see him again.” Harry wails from his position lying upside down in the floor.

There is a towel around his lower areas but he’s otherwise naked and wet, fresh after a shower. Liam thinks he probably calmed down somewhat after the shower but seeing the boy in front of him in such a state makes him want to shove him back into the bathroom.

It’s been five minutes of Liam standing there, trying to calm the boy but the situation is just confusing because Harry changes from delusional maniac with creepy smiley faces he barely sees in between the curls and the floor, to a depressed teen that Liam knows not what to do with.

He knows he’s supposed to offer the boy consolation but he’s so lost that when the doorbell rings he feels like he might just drop on his knees and thank Jesus. Sparing a last glance at the strewn Harry, Liam exits the room and opens the door. A blonde boy about their age stands on the other side, eying their hall curiously.

Liam coughs to get his attention and when the boy notices, he breaks into an immediate grin.

He has never seen him before, and his brain jumps on the idea that this is the famous Louis, but after a small freak out Harry would probably be proud for, he realized the boy does not fit with the description he has basically memorized by now.

He briefly thinks it might be a delivery guy, but he has no uniform, so who is he?

“Uhmm.” He begins, picking his brain for polite ways of asking who the hell the guy is and what he thinks he is doing visiting on such distressing hours. Liam finally settles for a vague “You are?” that he hopes the boy completes with an explanation.

Blondie chuckles. “I’m Niall, a mate of Harry’s.” He says and Liam has honestly never heard that name before but the boy doesn’t really seem like a burglar so he steps aside to let him through. “I got a text from him and he seemed freaked out if you ask me, you know? So I came by, hope ya don’t mind.” Niall adds as he walks in, eyes searching Liam’s. The homeowner nods and is about to close the door when Niall hugs him tightly in what he supposes is his – _quite_ friendly- way of greeting. As the stunned boy forces an “I’m Liam, flat mate.” out with the little air remaining in his lungs, the door falls closed.

Niall pulls apart and goes through the flat, freely kicking off his shoes and heading for Harry’s room right away. Either he has been here before, which Liam doubts since he knows all of Harry’s friends and the blonde boy is definitely not an indie type or a model if he judges on what he’s wearing (Cargo pants and bright white sneakers), or he got lucky.

Anyway, once he himself goes into Harry’s room, he finds Niall sitting on the bed staring at Harry. The room is mostly silent except for Harry’s wailing, but the hysterical boy is now making murderous eyes at Niall, as if the newcomer had just said something awful. No one says a word, and after shuffling his feet and clearing his throat Liam decides to say something. “So, how do you know Harry, Niall?” He asks because he is honestly curious after all.

“Well I like sweets and go out to the bakery all the time _plus_ I got him a date with the guy he’d been drooling over, so after that he couldn’t really kick me out you know?” Niall answers, smirking as Harry pauses his whining and makes a disapproving noise at being called drooler (Because _really_ it was just that one time when Louis wore skinny jeans and he had been sort of glued to his backside. It’s not like he’s _that_ needy- although he kind of is when it comes to the delivery boy but shush, details details)

“Oh so you’re the reason for this?” Liam shoots back, signaling to the mess of long limbs at his feet. Niall just cracks up and his laughter fills the room as he shakes his head.

“Nah, this is all _his_ fault.” The laughing boy says, motioning to Harry who grumbles, but somehow it feels lighter. The whole room does after Niall came in with silly jokes and a nonchalant attitude, and Liam is simply glad for it. After a silent beat, Liam checks the time out of habit and _woah_ okay it is definitely a bit late for Harry to be this undressed.

Niall must have realized or at least known, for he claps his hands and announces “So, recon it’s about time you get some clothes on, eh?”

Harry groans and Liam thinks _if it only were that easy._

_***_

A humongous pile of skintight jeans –all the same to Liam but no “This one is maroon and the other one is brown, Liam please-” a shoe hunt and a hairstyle crisis later, Harry is out of the flat and headed towards The Hole.

His hands twitch with excitement, and a grin settles down in his lips as he imagines the way in which Louis could smile today, the way in which his fringe will probably look in the night light, and how his eyes will hopefully sparkle as they talk close together in the many tables of the tiny restaurant.

Harry reminds himself that there is live music when his nerves threaten to spike, that he can always use that as a discussion theme, but he doesn’t think Louis ever runs out of things to talk about. And if he did, it wouldn’t matter, because Harry is sure he could propose a discussion on vacuums and Louis would go along, gesturing wildly and smiling coyly to himself while at it.

A chill runs through the air and Harry is thankful for Liam’s sensible suggestion of bringing a blazer over the ‘just a shirt will do’ option of Niall’s, while he tugs on the lapels. He’s glad the two of them got along well, and is hoping Niall will want to come over in smoother times as well, not just when he is having an existential crisis brought along by an insanely hot and sensible guy.

The streets are darkening as he turns the corner, reaching the faintly glowing sidewalk where the restaurant is in. In a few long strides he reaches the door, but his hand freezes at the handle.

“You can do it.” he reminds himself the way in which he practiced with Liam. His stomach tumbles and he feels jittery, but it’s the good kind of way. Like when he was a kid and went to sleep the night before his birthday, where he would try to calm down in order for the moment to approach faster but never quite managed it; he feels it.

He feels it in his speeding heart and in his mushy insides; He feels it in his buzzing ears, already catching some of the internal chatter, and in his softly trembling legs. He feels it in his chest as he takes a deep breath and opens the door, moon shining over the whole scenario as a witness to a magnificent event that has yet to happen.

The inside of the shop is just as cluttered as the outside with people sitting by the bar where a bartender is playing around with bottles ,and scattered across a series of tables that don’t match each other but work all the same.

A girl comes by and asks if he has a reservation; Harry answers that yes, he does and after giving her his name and confirming that it is indeed a table for two, he is lead into a secluded table near what he assumes is the stage. He checks his clock and finds that he is spot on, the pointers showing it is 7:30.

His knee bumps up and down nervously, and he can’t help but glance at the door every few minutes, wondering if every chime of the bells is Louis and letting his grin falter every time he finds it’s not. It’s only a few minutes into their meeting time and he’s being silly, he knows that much, but when he sees a waiter approaching he does tense up just a little bit.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asks, notepad in her hand and pen in the other. As far as Harry can tell in the dim light she’s a blonde with dead eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here. He hopes Louis won’t think the same when he arrives and wonders what he would do if he did. Probably come up with something silly, he guesses. Maybe point out some of the art or make a funny face, that weird one that always works. He hears the girl clear her throat and realizes he got carried away, which makes him blush. He’s being an absolute mess tonight.

“Uhhm just water please?” He answers, unsure. The girl gives him a pointed looks and retreats into the busier parts of the restaurant.

As he peers around the place, Harry realizes that it feels very uncomfortable, being alone in a table for two and waiting for Louis. He wishes they had arranged for him to pick the boy up but it’s too late and all he can do is look around.

Over by his left, on a tall table that seems to stand apart, a group of friends is chatting away. They seem engrossed in their chatter, laughing occasionally and defying every expectation one would have of the clients at the place.  Their joy seems infectious, and Harry can’t help but smile when a girl almost falls off her chair amidst giggles. He wishes Louis would just get here so they could laugh off like they do sometimes in the bakery, when they’re being especially weird or aloof and the sight of the other enhances it. He chuckles fondly.

On the other side, he sees a couple eying each other slyly, and he quickly looks away feeling awkward for intruding on such an intimate moment, or what he feels was. Harry stares at the table instead, with its dark wood surface lightly scratched and cherry placemats matching it nicely. They seem vintage, but he knows nothing about that kind of stuff so they might just be very worn.  A candle takes up the middle of the table, uneven and with burnt spots, and it’s flame dances wildly in the air. Up and down, sideways; it’s free, and Harry gets caught up in the beauty of the dancing spectrum of red for a minute, green fixed on red and its peaceful swaying. But a candle can only be interesting for as long as Harry’s thoughts run, and after going through every detail he gave Louis of the date, there are no more pressing ones, only nerves knocking his mind’s door.

He checks his clock again. 7:45 . It’s still early; Louis could’ve had trouble getting a cab or something, so Harry’s not worried. Well not _terribly_ so.

When he looks around again – he has nothing else to do really, and he gets bored very easily with no beautiful boy to entertain or be entertained by- he notices the group of laughing people has quieted down and is now whispering. Harry wonders what they’re talking about until they point at him, very obviously if he can say so, and continue talking. Red invades his cheeks and crawls up into his ears, and he sinks down in his chair a bit. Embarrassed, Harry takes out his phone and begins playing a game, urging for the group to move subjects and ignore his lonely self. It’s not like he will wallow just because Louis is late! He’s just the tiniest bit slumped, and when his date arrives they’ll see how wrong they were. They will.

They must have switched to more interesting, _real_ subjects, since Harry plays game after game of temple run and then angry birds in hopes that the attention will be drawn somewhere else and for time to pass quicker. He really wants to see Louis.

Harry’s about to pass his record when he hears someone clear his throat. When he looks up he finds it’s the kill-me girl from earlier and she doesn’t look any happier. He locks his phone as she clicks her pen and nods toward the seat where Louis should be but isn’t.

“Are you sure you don’t want to order?” She asks, and Harry pauses for a moment. Wondering if he should just go on and listen to the small voice that says Louis will not come but no; he will. He’s sure, Louis likes him and he agreed; and he _is_ going to come. So he shakes his head and the girl sighs, though it does sound more empathetic than annoyed, and leaves.

Having run out of things to do, Harry stares at the performer that has just located near the stage. It’s a girl who he guesses will sing and play some piano as she’s stretching out her fingers and is near a keyboard.

She seems nervous, and Harry looks around the place in search for Louis once again before sinking back into his chair and continuing his analysis on the girl. He hopes she will sing something cheery that will make the heaviness in his stomach seem lighter or the frown he can’t help, disappear.

The thing is he doesn’t want to be pessimistic but the voice is getting louder as each minute passes and it’s so easy to regret things, he thinks. It would’ve been easy for Louis to decide he didn’t want to be here- but _no_ he wouldn’t be so cruel. Maybe he forgot? No _, no one_ can be so forgetful. His mind debates, but his heart sinks and his stomach tightens with every customer that comes in and isn’t who he wants to see. Doubt can only be kept at bay for so long, and his nerves increase alongside it.

But yeah, he thinks, Louis will come; he has to. He likes Harry, right?

A microphone is tapped and Harry snaps out of his thoughts. The girl is now ready to start singing and she does as soon as the lights dim impossibly dimmer. She starts with some slow melodies that make Harry’s heart ache for a boy that has to come-that simply has to. A boy with tanned skin he yearns to see and a smile he’s begun to miss.

The tunes drift in the air, with combinations that ring of freshly baked bread and booming laughter; of happiness and love. His mind wonders into the first time he saw Louis, with his silly white uniform and grin. Melodic voice, short height and all; he had been glorious. He remembers the way in which he had blushed and how nice Louis had been about it. Harry can perfectly recall the butterflies, and everything else. He could never forget the force that came by and never left; the hurricane of perfect that’s not here.

_Come on skinny love just last the year_

The restaurant moves around him, people come and go and he wonders if it’s ever going to be Louis coming through that door. It is now eight o’clock. The previous whisper in his mind is now a constant voice that sing-songs he won’t, and Harry fights it weakly, with a silver string of hope he can’t help but have.

The waitress comes again, but this time she just stares at Harry and he shakes his head. No, he’s not ready to give up, not yet.

Louis will probably come.

_Cut out all the ropes and let me fall_

Sitting there all alone Harry watches the girl sing. The way in which she moves, closer to the microphone as if it were pulling her in, not letting her stray too far and her not wanting to. He smiles at that, a struggled kind though, because he gets it, how your passion can do that, and his does as well. Blue eyes do that to him too, they would’ve if they had been here.

He wonders why Louis would do this; leave him alone in the restaurant with his hopes slowly falling into what seems an inevitable crash. Would it be for fun? It doesn’t seem very funny watching the customers trickle out of the restaurant, everyone but him with a faithful companion. Maybe to see his pained face when they meet again? He doesn’t think he can face Louis if he doesn’t show up- _He has to show up, he will_ \- it would be too hard.

He thinks it would’ve been easier for Louis to just say he wasn’t planning on coming, but maybe the boy is planning. There is still time, it’s only 8:15.

_Pour a little salt, you were never here_

On the table he can spot if he tilts to the left, a couple is kissing. Not roughly or needy, just calm and sweet, caring. Harry watches as the break apart and the stare into each other’s eyes as if the person next to them is everything. He wants that and thinks it is not fair he can’t.

Fury takes up some space when it comes in a wave and hits him, a new kind of emotion amongst the nerves and frail fragments of hope. Louis can’t be this mean, he can’t. There is no way it’s on purpose. No one can wish this on a person, the endless hope and empty reward, the painful watch, want and never have. No, it isn’t right; it is not pure; it is not _Louis._

He wants to punch someone, to cry out in rage because it’s unfair. Why isn’t Louis sitting across him? Why isn’t there pleasant chatter in his table? Why does everyone get a fairy tale ending, everyone but him? He has done nothing wrong, he has always made rights, he has tried; he has smiled at life. Then Why? Why isn’t Louis coming? He should be.

 _Is_ he coming?

_Now all your love is wasted then who the hell was I?_

“How is everything going?” Reads the text he gets from Liam a second later, and he deletes it without an answer. It makes him realize he feels it now, weighting around in his mind for acknowledgment; and the text just pushed him over. He knows, he just has to admit it.

Louis is not coming, not when it is 8:30 and he’s been alone for an hour. Not when the place has quieted down and everyone has already left or eaten. He will never cross that door, and even if he did it’d be too late, because Harry already feels the abandonment crawling inside of him, growing stronger now that it has been acknowledged.

What is the point of being here any longer then? What would be the point of wallowing in such a public place when he can go home and it’ll be the same?  No prince will come to rescue him in shining armour, not a single soul here will hold him as his tears start to fall. There is no one to have an anything with present in the room, and no one that he wants to see try anyways. No one, because Louis is everyone he ever wanted there, on the empty chair. And he is not here.

Not even his smile or memory, just the hurt he sparked.

It is so unjust. All the chatting, all the notes for this? The empty feeling carved into his chest? No, it wasn’t worth it, it just wasn’t. All the smiles for nothing, all the incessant nerves, the constant blushing for nothing?

He gets nothing.

Nothing at all, not even a boy to whom he gave his whole; not even a kiss, not even a chance to give his most.

_Who will love you? Who will fight?_

_And who will fall, far behind?_

The song closes, and so does the whirlwind of emotion inside Harry. There is nothing left for him to dwell over; just regret, sadness and the lonesome tear that falls as the chords slow down.

There is no boy, there is no love, and there is no anything.

Just an empty chair and a sobbing boy crying silver tears, because Louis did not come.

***

As he gets home that night, having left the restaurant as the performer packed up and the waitress eyed him sorrowfully, he finds Liam waiting for him in the couch. His mouth is left ajar and soft breaths come out occasionally. It makes Harry smile, the failed attempt his friend made of staying up for him, but it comes out as a grimace and his tear stained cheeks ache.

Shuffling once more, he gets rid of his shoes and falls into the couch beside Liam’s sleeping body, curling around it and the heat it offers. It’s comforting, and as he settles down, his mind replays the way in which Louis’s smile had been the one offering him heat, a warm welcome he thought he held tightly; but turns out he didn’t.

He barely notices more tears are falling, but recons they do once Liam stirs and looks sleepily at Harry, a question implied. The tearful boy just shakes his head and buries his head in Liam’s chest.

Harry thinks he hears a soft sight before hands cradle through his hair, but they don’t ease the knot like they used to; his insides are too cold for that kind of comfort to be enough right now.

He just wants to sleep. To drift and forget, because the tears are only getting worse, and so is his ache.

***

When they wake up Liam demands an explanation and Harry gives him one, sparing the details of how it felt knowing he wasn’t enough for Louis to show up, and how he feels like crying even then. His roommate swears into the air and hugs Harry close. Harry loses it again and cries some more. Lunch is silent.

They watch a movie and Harry admits he doesn’t know what he’ll do come Thursday. Liam says he has Niall at least; it makes Harry smile.

 It seems too much of a reaction for being stood up, but it goes much further than that. Louis made him smile, made the days a tad bit brighter with promises of twinkling laughter and warmth. Louis made him come out of his shell, to be bold when all he ever felt was shy. He made him change into someone he likes more through something as simple as notes, but didn’t want to stick long enough to see the results.

He noticed Harry, the constant by passer, and seemed actually interested in what he had to say. He was funny, smart and cheeky-everything Harry was not- and the fact that he talked to the young baker had meant so much to him. But not to Louis apparently, and the thought stung him deep.

When Sunday comes again, he sheds only two tears and sleeps thought the night.

***

“He didn’t fucking _what_?” Exclaims Niall, crumbs flying everywhere at his sudden gestures. He has come due to a message from Liam, Harry guesses, but he’s thankful anyways. The bakery had been awfully silent before him.

He shakes his head and slumps against the counter, tugging his beanie lower into his head. “He didn’t come.” Harry repeats in a small voice. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, to give it more importance than it already has in his mind, but saying it out loud does anyways, just like it did with Liam.

Harry just wants to get it over with, really, to pick up his injured ego and get rid of the sad thoughts in order for normal to come back; for the bakery to feel warm and not the stony cold it emanates right now; for his heart to stop calling after someone and concentrate on enjoying what he has left of summer .But in reality, he knows normal is not what he wants. He wants Louis, and for Thursdays to be the highlight of his week again, not a day he’s dreading. But we can’t always get what we want, and we can’t make time go back to sunny, smiley days either.

Niall and him chat some more but Harry is not really on the mood for the bundle of energy the Irish boy can’t help but be; so he excuses himself and leaves for the back of the shop where he goes about accommodating some stuff and trying very hard to focus on the coloured sprinkles and not on the heaviness in his stomach.

***

But life has to move on, time passes and in one way or another, Wednesday slips by and Thursday is here. Harry considers not getting out of bed at all when he wakes up, but that seems a little bit too dramatic for his liking. Besides, there’s always the backroom when you need to hide, even if the only company is a flour sack that he calls Joey when he’s feeling particularly lonely. Though Niall is a better Joey than Joey is, flour doesn’t look at him with pity when he lets tears fall.

The bakery greets him like an old friend, offering indifferent comfort to his mental struggle. It’s an improvement, he thinks as he raises the curtains, of just plain coldness and mindless wonderings, and places the bread into the oven as memories flood back. Soon the smell drifts from the kitchen to the front where he’s organizing some cups, and he takes a deep breath, relaxing and accepting. Today might not be the best day ever, but at least he’ll finally give the ponderings of his mind an answer. If he knows why, if he can comprehend the reason Louis didn’t show up, then maybe, _maybe_ it’ll be a closure of some sorts, a final stamp to the feelings he wishes to mail away.

The usual clients trickle in slowly, few at first, with minutes passing in silence, and then more often until he has a mere second in between tasks and all he can think at once is the orders. His cupcakes come out the tiniest bit burnt, but no one seems to notice, and it’s the only tell-tale sign of how anxious he’s becoming. It’s the electric current again, but this time it tastes harsh and unwelcome, not terribly sweet like it used to. Harry may feel a twinkle of nostalgia at that, but he only truly acknowledges it for a second before he’s fleeting again, pushing the thought out and replacing it with the latest request.

Niall comes in about the same time as always, when the number of people has finally decreased and Harry is tidying up the remains of the rush hour.

“Hey.” Greets the blonde as Harry slows down to a stop and leans in the counter, a rag hanging from his arm. He looks hesitant, a look the baker has never seen displayed in his features before, and it worries him. Harry silently prays a speech is not coming out of Niall’s mouth anytime soon, because he can’t handle that now that his mind is finally free enough to work itself into a state. He just wants to wait, to wait and see and store whatever words Louis gives him. Harry wants to just stop the hurting and questioning and the incessant unglued feeling. He wants to feel, but not this, _no_ , he wants to feel balanced again, and what comes next will give him that- he _needs_ for Louis to at least give him that, _Balance._

So that he moves on, and forgets. It’s important for him, and Niall seems to grasp the fact that it’s not lecture time, thankfully, for as soon as Harry nods in acknowledgement of his salute, there is silence.

But of course, Niall is Niall, and his blue eyes give him away. There’s something he’s holding back, and Harry sighs before saying so. The Irish has the decency to look sorry before staring up at Harry, uncertain.

“Oh go on Niall.” Harry admosnishes, wanting to get whatever will come, over. He would normally pester the boy more, but he has a feeling that whatever Niall will say, he will not like.

“Do ya’ think Louis will come?” Niall asks in return, uncertain. He’s looking at Harry’s face for any clue on what he’s thinking but there’s nothing there, just a tightening of lips.

“Has to.” Is all the baker replies, shrugging. They don’t talk much after that, Harry being too anxious and Niall thinking in how to start a conversation several times but deciding it’s probably not the best thing to do. Time doesn’t fly, but it doesn’t crawl either and then; then it is time.

The dreaded noise of an engine pierces through the tense silence, and Harry looks at Niall, eyes wide and panicky. He doesn’t really need any answers, right? He can just go to the back and never come back out. No matter how angry he felt or so, he can get over that, but not the nauseating feeling he has now. No he can’t stand this, and balance can go fuck itself, he’ll live with the anger.

 It seems like a good plan- anything involving not seeing the boy would be at the moment-and he even makes a move to start it but it is then too late, the bells are chiming and Louis is standing there, a relieved look on his face that doesn’t fit in Harry’s projection of the situation at all.

Niall goes tense and looks at Harry before ducking out and sitting on a far end table as Louis approaches, and it feels so strange his heart aches. It’s nothing like the sunny afternoons, there’s no one smiling or blushing and Niall is not even here to make fun of them; and Harry wants to cry. To cry and make it all go back because he wants that, not this, and he hates Louis right now; he wishes nothing would’ve ever happened but knows he doesn’t mean it.

Louis is standing there, and it _hurts_ , but they aren’t talking so Harry decides to punish himself even more and look him in the eye, just to see if he even feels sorry for not showing up. Harry is angry, and figures Louis is probably having a feast on how sad he looks if he’s not human enough to be sorry. Maybe he’s both; sorry for being so delighted in Harry’s anguish and proud because his evil foolery worked. Maybe Harry is sorry, for being so stupid; maybe they’re both sorry and screwed up, but it’s certainly not okay.

What he finds is even more upsetting than a satisfied smirk would’ve ever been. He finds hope, and sadness. He locks eyes for a second, why? He doesn’t know, he just stares into blue until Louis makes a move to speak, and then he snaps out of it.

“Give me the clipboard.” He instructs, voice cold and unwavering, coming out not without a fight. He’s doing all he can to not shout at the boy, to look calm and not kick him out because the bakery needs the ingredients and if Louis is not going to give him a reason, then Harry’s not giving him a show either.

The boy looks troubled and thinks for a second before opening his mouth again. “Harry just-“ “Give me the clipboard Louis.” The baker interrupts him, repeating his order. _Give it to me and just go,_ He pleads internally because he feels like he can’t hold his emotions in any longer, and he really doesn’t want to cry in front of Louis. He has already proved to Louis how much of a fool he is, and breaking down will only embarrass him further.

It seems to be enough for Louis, who sighs and stares at Harry sadly a second longer before wordlessly extending the item towards him. The baker takes it, signs and hands it back as quickly as he can muster. He leaves with the box he’s handed for the back just after, and misses the way in which Louis eyes him sadly once more before leaving.

***

Harry spends the whole night mulling the situation over in his head. He’s angry; he knows that much, but the rest of what he feels is just an incoherent jumble. Certain parts highlight when he thinks of different events, like loneliness when he relieves the restaurant scene and foolishness when he finally realized Louis wasn’t going to show up. Ire, when Louis dared to try and explain even though he wants it, which only leads to confusion. Harry thinks he wants answers, but at the same time he doesn’t want Louis to just invent something to get him to shut up. He wants the truth, but he only wants that, and he’s sure Louis won’t just hand it over. It makes him build up a grudge, or rather, reinforce the one he’s been holding, and it hangs as a dark cloud all throughout the dark hours.

Liam doesn’t even try to argue that he should’ve let Louis talk, the boy already knows Harry is second guessing it. The deep scowl on Harry’s face when he even hints at it is enough proof that it is a touchy subject, and the memory of a sobbing Harry the day after gives the matter a final sense of closure.

The house is quiet that night.

***

On Saturday morning, a sleepy Harry makes his way through the preparations for the new day, his reddened eyes scanning the tiny shop before turning the sign around and deeming the place open.

Some people scatter at the usual ‘I’m finally out of bed and need caffeine’ time but the place is mostly quiet all morning. Harry takes up the spare time to try and untangle more of his feelings, but all he accomplishes before giving up with a sigh, is a hurting face from furrowing his brow too much and a weird look from a lady down by the front of the shop.

Near the usual weekend closing time, a boy in tight trousers and a beanie steps in. He doesn’t look familiar in the least, but after he glances around the bakery quickly, his eyes land on Harry. A flash of recognition goes through what seem brown eyes, and he chooses to sit down in the stools by the counter.

Harry doesn’t know him, he’s never even seen him around and so he dismisses his idea of being recognized as idle thinking, taking up his simple order instead. The boy seems to be thinking deeply when Harry brings back his order, and stares at him a second too long before focusing on his black coffee and slowly picking at his croissant.

It’s not like they get many of this ‘peculiar teens’, and normally Harry would’ve wondered why the boy seems so troubled by the idea of him, but it’s really not the time so he shrugs and heads back to his spot behind the counter.

A pair of ladies walks in after he’s done serving him, and they keep him busy while the boy eats and finishes up , signalling for Harry to come over. When he does, a bill is held in the guy’s hand, but there seems to be no intention of handing it over just yet.

Instead, Harry gets a long look.

“You are not exactly what I had in mind when Louis described the bakery boy, you know?” The boy says coolly, and it dawns over Harry-albeit after a small _what_? moment- that Louis freaking sent someone to apologise for him. Or if he didn’t, the boy over here seems intent on talking about him anyways, and that’s not good either (Though he really suspects the ~~charming~~ delivery boy asked for him to say sorry; he seems just the type) Harry steadfastly ignores the fact that Louis talked about him and how fluttery it makes his stomach feel and instead concentrates on how it fires up the unresolved anger he’s been working on getting rid of, and takes a second to collect himself before putting on the most neutral face he can manage.

“The total would be ten pounds sir.” Harry enounces, staring blankly at the customer, who seems to get the message with a silent sigh. The quick surrender probably means he’d been expecting to be shot down and Harry suspects an initial reluctance; because really, the boy seems to be the usual customer that only comes at night after recently getting out of bed so Louis’s conviction powers may just be lethal. The bill shakes a bit but the boy hands it over, resigned, as he stands up.

He seems to have one last thing he wants to say, and he does, just before Harry turns around and leaves.

 “Just, let him explain okay?” The boy asks with a sincere pleading showing through his eyes. “It is not what you think, I promise.”

***

Words bounce around Harry’s head, shaking up his feelings, toying with his memories. If things are not what they seem, then what are they?  If wrongly rooted feelings can be trusted, he doesn’t know, and the uncertainty tugs at his heartstrings. He feels weird, confused and wondrous, and the night drags on. The anger, somehow, seems to leave slowly and begin to be replaced with murky confusion that’s not really better; since he knows how to be angry but confused? He doesn’t know how to feel like that for very long, and the shards of the anguish he’s been feeling are thinning. He doesn’t know if they’ll last.

Blue eyes and handwritten notes plague his dreams, but a sinking feeling joins them as well. He’s falling, falling, and only a smirk holds the hand that can tug him back. It comes just in time, only a beat later than expected.

***

On Thursday, a sound he has come to alienate rumbles through the bakery once more. It seems to scream finality, but maybe that’s just Harry. Too many feeling lately have screwed with him, and he’ll take any sign as a closure, even if Louis just comes in and smacks him square in the face (Though really, a chat will do, thank you very much).

A beat later Louis walks through the door and Harry doesn’t even have it in him to be cold. The “mysterious” boy’s warning has been echoing in his mind all week, and if Louis wants to explain then so be it. Maybe they’ll be done then, maybe not, but without a fight, and that’s what matters in the end. No screams, just a chat probably, and then separate ways. (His heart tugs at the thought, but it’s nothing compared to the week-long twister he has grown used to but wishes to say goodbye to _so_ bad)

They stare at each other like it’s the first time, as if the cute messages never brightened their days; as if they haven’t spent most of their time dreaming about the other or completely tearing themselves apart for every juicy detail of the cherished memories. Louis stares at Harry and Harry at Louis, like they’re on a clean slate with a faint murkiness between them that seems so easy to dissipate that the baker desperately wants Louis to do so.

When the delivery boy does nothing, Harry takes a deep breath and prompts him.

“Go on then.” He urges, gesturing for him to go on and unload whatever he has to say. ‘Last chance’ is what goes implicit and Louis looks nervous for a second before looking deeply into Harry’s eyes for reassurance before sighing and  dropping his hands to his sides.

“I just.” Louis starts, but backpedals nervously. He had thought about what he was going to say, or so it appears, but now he’s fidgeting and twitching. Finally he gives up on any pretence of order and just lets it all out. A small smile lights up his face briefly.

“Wow, okay here’s the thing. I have four sisters yeah? They’re literally the best siblings in the world Harry, you don’t even know, but Mom is not always there and I hate to leave them alone. So when the night of our date she called and said she was going to be late, what could I say? I wasn’t going to say no to her plea to babysit so I told her okay and I literally spent the whole night wallowing in pity and I’m so ashamed to say this but you gotta understand Haz. I didn’t have your cell number and I wanted to run there so bad but I stayed put and when Mom finally came home I dashed to The Hole. I _did_ go Harry, I never meant to leave you there all alone, but when I got there they’d told me you had left hours ago. _Hours!_ And I could do nothing, because I couldn’t call, or text, and when I came in my free time you were never here and when you were you didn’t let me explain! Tell me what you would’ve done, because now you’re sad and I’m mad at myself and it won’t get us anywhere. I just want you to know, so that you don’t hate me that much, or at all.” He adds the last bit as he looks up, hopeful and Harry can physically feel the last bits of resentment melt.

So it was not on purpose. As the words sink in, as the reality of what a good person Louis is, Harry’s mind clears and clears. He didn’t play with Harry, no, he didn’t leave him alone on purpose; he went, but too late. Time is their enemy, not each other. And how can he be mad when all he wants to do is hug Louis _so_ tight and coo about how he is a great brother? If he’d been lying, the look he is giving Harry now wouldn’t be possible. Harry’s mind searches for a flaw in his argument, for a bit to signal that he should feel the way he has been feeling, but there’s none.

Now that all the hate, confusion and sadness is gone, now that Louis took it with him, there is just affection and it bursts so spontaneously in Harry, it takes him aback. It’s like it has been stored away all this time, and now it’s coming back stronger than ever. He can’t hold it back, and neither can he stop himself from closing the distance and enveloping Louis in a crushing hug.

Harry feels Louis relax and hug him back just as tightly. He nuzzles into Harry’s shoulder and he lets him, embracing the closeness. Harry feels his mouth move before the words reach his ears.

“You forgive me?” Comes the muffled voice and Harry can feel the hope radiate from them.

“I forgave you the second you smiled at me Lou.” He answers back, and then Louis looks up with such bright eyes, and they’re so close that Harry can’t help but kiss him.

He faintly sees Louis close his eyes before he closes his and feels a pair of soft lips on his that just feel right. There are no fireworks, no monumental moment, but instead a slow, spreading feeling of home. They kiss slowly, as if time was never to run out, but they count it slowly, with lazy drags of tongue and sparks of emotion. When they pull apart they both smile shyly and hug each other again, but it feels different this time. It’s quiet, but silence has never felt this welcoming.

 And then Louis shifts and looks up with a twinkle in his eye. There is an idea dancing there, and it must be amazing for it lights up his whole face. “Then come on, there’s no time to loose!” He exclaims as he disentangles himself from Harry and takes his hand, tugging at it.

Harry is lost. From being hugged to tugged at in 0 seconds tends to do that-well it hasn’t happened before but he guesses it always would since he is kinda slow-  so he barely forms the words before his feet are moving.

“But what, now?” He asks, bewildered. “We can’t go now! I need to tend the bakery!”

Louis looks back and smiles coyly before calling out for Niall. “Niall cover Harry for today” He instructs loudly, and the Irish looks as lost as Harry for a moment before breaking into a grin and nodding.

It is probably a terrible idea, and most of the inventory will be missing by tomorrow, but Louis is gesturing for the door with a warm smile. He opens the door and exaggeratedly signals for Harry to go out.

 “There! Shall we?” He proposes cheekily, and Harry cannot say no to such an offer, so he goes on, with a grin challenging the brightest sun and an _oh so tan_ boy at his side, leaving the sweet bakery where it all began, behind; but  feeling sure that their times there, have just begun.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be the greatest thing ever, good or bad! :D (If you wanna chat on tumblr or just yell at me for this, it's latitta)


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